Archive for June, 2014

TouchTouch me if you dareThe God's you follow won't careMedea knows your fickle touchLeaving a red trail on the sea of eroticaEros aphrodisiacOf myrtle, poppy, rose and apple, turned magicCarried upon a single dart to the heartWas it not I In a golden chariot bedecked of rubies and amethystWho flew cross the stratosphereEncased in the vestments of hearts raptureNight after nightTo find silken sheets and honey combs of desireWrapped in your armsArms hairy with betrayalLearned in the whoring of manScaring each sweet virgin maidenA red trail of a touchOnce felt, never healedIn death sought Satan gives no pardonJust deflocking night after nightIts your red life’s bloodFlows cross the horizonTossed on the waves of evil frenzySuckled and spit into agonies cauldronAs I cast my desperation and madnessAfter your now dead heartWailing the loss of your armsI'm bound chained and denied(clarice) 12/08/2011

It was the first Christmas I rememberMaybe because it was 1944 and my dad lay wounded in a hospitalShrapnel in his back from a German U-Boat attackMy uncles Julius and Louie were on ships in the South PacificAnd Uncles Art and Virgil were sailing somewhereTheir where about’s unknown

I remember seeingAgainst a white shower on a all but deserted roadReverend Risenhauer’s 1936 Lincoln Zephyr a navy shadowEmerging out of the swirls of snowThe old folks, women and children waiting his arrivalHad sons, brothers, fathers and husbands battling for freedomOn foreign soils and seven seas

They’d came in cars, horse drawn sleighs and wagonsFamilies like the Griffins and their seven passengersMa and Pa German who’d picked up twenty parishioners along the wayAll bundled up on the wagon bed their carols floating in the airSmall groups of walkers made their way against the stinging windAnd here and there a horse and rider could be seen

In the Mt Morris Bank’s second story meeting roomWe gathered that Christmas EveI didn’t know then, that we were one of five such groupsFrom Our Savior Lutheran Church that the good pastor visitedOn a circuit route because gas was scarce thenSo he came to us using the gas donated with their ration stamps

I stood in front of the congregation a wee small girlDressed in red and shivering frightTo say my Bible verseThey gave us bags of peppermint and homemade taffyAnd I wondered what I’d done to make my mommy cryShe told me she was wishing Daddy was there

As a slow tear baths my cheekI count my blessings before they fadeChristmas came again the following yearI said my bible verse in churchAnd mama cried happy tearsThe war was over, daddy and my uncles had came home

The shadow gravely eclipsed in the rapine stained earthLeaves its cadaverous berthStill reeling its passing from life to surceaseIt floats above the sceneWatching the detectivesTaking stock of her grisly remainsA grim sight no longer budding innocence The once vital breathing waif – lifelessHer spirit goneShe grieves for her youth and all that is lost

A vertiginous issuance zephyr of lament and revengeHer ghostly spirit begins her hauntShe cannot leave her miscreant assailantAngered that he is there enjoying his killDid they not seeDid they not suspectThe lead detective flaunting, taunting them allAs he takes charge shaking with raging pretenseHer shadow passes over him and stalls

A keening wind whispering in the harsh twilightScreaming ” I know who-oo , I know who-oo, I do”Circled taunting the detective with a punishing biteAnd the shadow with choking claws descendsHe feels its length begin Tightening its long black form around his conscienceMaddening pressing the wind keeps tauntingThe shadow tightens its vengeanceWould it never end?“When you confess, confess – confess”(clarice) 02/22/2014

She was a girl with a suitcase full of dreamsWith a ticket to ride for a visitTo a land of kings and queensA bolting spirit looking to be lost in transit

The wind, the road and the wayAnd a bus named desireLure the young runawayPretty in polka dots, ancient expired

Waiting not the wrath of GodHer lament not to see a land againWhere falls not hail, or rain, or any snow

Dark shadows scorpion is left behindThe road home is but a dreamWhere falls not hail, or rain, or any snow

Hang on to your hat and carry onAbbadon’s sword is buried in hellNostalgia takes the form of a swanGraceful satire flight from evils death knell

Now a lady in waiting, waiting at the bus stopHer golden curls flying in the windWhere falls not hail, or rain, or any snow

A waiting game she dare not loseReturning to Bogan would be the final strawGreed and lust, thrust, tentacles reaching, black and blueThe road ahead a beckoning freedom call

To a land of kings and queensFreedoms dream takes her away from the landWhere falls not hail, or rain, or any snow

(clarice)-6/16/2014

The plight of many young girls and boys is finding themselves lostNot wanting to live in the abusive atmosphere that has been their lotWe all want to say it isn’t so. These desperate children searching for freedomThis poem is written for them

“Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow” from Tennyson’s Morte D’Arthur

Slightly past tipsyWaving her glass of whiskeyShe declared“Drinks all around, I’ve been skatingWith the devil and survived”“By any accepted standard I have had more than nine livesI counted them up once and there were 13 timesI almost and maybe should have died”

A fellow at a nearby tableLaughed and said “Better hitch up your girdleI think we’re about ta hear a Micky Mouse yarn.”

“Oh Pooh! Pooh!” she sneeredSipped profusely from her ale-urnAnd began:

The motor mouth heckler fell out of his chair“Tootsie. This ain’t Disney WorldAnd its not worth the price of admissionFor a gander of whats under your hair.”

“Oh Pooh! Pooh” she retortedDon’t rain on my parade you MortTurned to the crowd and continued her tale

The Awful Truth of this horror I experiencedIs never trust a Bosom Buddie with your pink ugg bootsWhen I asked for them back she attackedLike a mama bear protecting her cubs, the bruteTore, swore, scratched and left me lying on a railroad trackWith a fast approaching diesel in route

She finished her whiskey in one swift gulpWiped her brow with a Micky Mouse,gloveThe mouthy Psycho had tossed with his bull

Female Trouble she slurred“Makes one a Topsy-Turvy SweedieSeven times I found my self at the point of a gunFour times a knife wielding jelly had me on the run”

“I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanityto anyone, but they’ve always worked for me”“Cause in every instance I had to fight against their lethalityPop an atomic fireball from the nearest snack machineBecome a street fighter and fight for my life”

“Is it any wonder I’m not Dancing in the StreetBut Slightly past tipsy in this diveWith my buddy the heckler watching your reactionTo this fib I’ve told when you find out –Smile – You’re on candid camera!”

People out on the street.. walk around in defeat…. Beggin’ for blankets but. settling for sheets Tattered and ragged with blistered feet! and all the while the media tries.. to separate the blue from the skies.. feeding us lies and alibis.. while the world cries… Not the leaders though…. acting like they don’t know…

Down in the ghetto up on the hill pills, booze and weed give temporary thrills Molly’s got a friend who turns the key once more to be preyed upon by demons harsh sea Fly to the sky in a ship of maggots Eating your soul like bandits A table of Angel Dust the tea service the glass house crumbles into hells thermos Chased…

Crowd roars its wave round Steel fieldTwo batters retired with heated bulletsCounting the moments till strike three is sealedPin drop quiet ensues round the stadium Pitcher winds and fires a twisting wheel of zealA moment`, pause`, ball four`, its goose maniaMob hell swells sweat beads on umpire and hurlerThe pennant is waving just out of reachJackhammer bruiser is hovering at the plateGestured finger jesture on first base tenderedCaught, held in grimace then returnedWar is declared in that instantThe pitch underway, low ball burnSecond fly cruises` middle dominant Third away, fourth a bender with financeAce highsteps lets loose his bestJackhammer bombs over center fenceNo second chances, or victory dancesButtercups and ticket stubs blow cross the field

LuckyAs the smoke wafts and begins to rise, heads bow while souls lift open eyes Hold the cries…these were chosen flights…exposing plights Darkness ran the day, but they owned the night with exploding lights Woven bright as wings flowed with might, angelic type…coded lives Read the diaries…they are written in the Lambs Book by lightening Before hands shook, before their souls were took…it was blessed in writing

StormyIn trenches, drenched in blood, death and endless tension they crowd Their fears, tears and experiences spilled upon lives pages Outpouring each skirmish, rifle shot, friend lost, death they wrought Combatants torn, ragged tired, proud…turned eyes and cries to avow wars crimes As blood ran red, men lie dead, souls part for heaven and damnation through time Leaving only the Letters home, journals, hurried scribbles…fervid penned phrases Packed and tucked in black pockets of despair

LuckyPockets get emptied and boxed as bodies placed in flag covered coffinsScreen doors creak; followed by a knock…it happens way too oftenBroken down mother read the tales of honor, survival and of fearStories of bullets, blood and bombers, she ponders with eyes covered in tearsFamilies would gladly trade the word “Hero” for “Alive” if only given the chanceFreedom is not free; it’s paid by the lives of those who will not advanceSo as the letters and diaries are placed in their final box of memoriesWe pray for all the fallen soldiers, who defended us from all our enemies

Lily unsurpassed in lithesome grace Catching fire in the rising pyreColor red, Encased in lace all ablazeEntrances many a suitor into hell fireTheir hearts up in flamesFrom spontaneous combustion of desire

The devils hand a pyromania of insanityUndead energy rose from the infernoThe shining skeletal fire stroked her vanityIncubus of fire and ice eternalHe torched her inner salacityWith fingers of tentacled bliss

He played her innocence With supernatural spellbound strokes Burning ice inflaming claimingWhispers from under her petticoatsI’m all afire burning for youRapturous haven of pleasures fondue

Under tutelage a hell-raiser claryLily glowed no more for her devilTo late learning hell hath no furyHer color red, encased in lace all ablazeGone with the wind in a flurryBurnt ashes rued regret